


terribly wanting (to be with you)

by epanouiii



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Cheek Kisses, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Self-Doubt, The Jacket™️, a hedgehog ppl, dw i make it up to him, lucas is smitten, no beta we die like men, so is eliott, srry for any errors im a flawed human, this is me making it up to him, why am i so mean to him, ੯ू❛ัू ໒꒱
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epanouiii/pseuds/epanouiii
Summary: It's the end of their first date and Lucas is wearing Eliott's jacket - the brown one he's almost never seen without. The thing is surprisingly cozy and Lucas, despite knowing it's kinda weird, wants to burrow down in it and forget everything but the way he feels when Eliott smiles at him. Except, it's all too perfect and he's waiting for the ball to drop. It never does.Or, Eliott gives Lucas his Jacket™ and he doesn't know what to do with himself.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	terribly wanting (to be with you)

**Author's Note:**

> this was like, two months in the making. it started out as one scene i wrote while i was rlly tired and was in my elu feels, and then out of nowhere it turned into this 4k word monster. and that's coming from an underwriter who usually doesn't write more than 2k a yEar. this level of power scares me
> 
> i could do anything. i could,,i could do my hw. i could write a plotty asf 100k word fic abt these two pining boys and their life in the forest. the possibilities are endless my doods
> 
> anyway i ramble too much for my own good. enjoy!!
> 
> tw in end notes

It’s dark when they stop in front of the flatshare. And cold. Lucas can feel the burn of the Parisian winter on his chest, through the jacket Eliott gave him at the beginning of their date—the large brown one he’s never seen without. He can only imagine what it’s like for his…not boyfriend, but something. 

They haven’t defined it. Lucas doesn’t know what’s stopping him, but he can never get the words to come out. He leaves it to stagnate between them, growing until the pressure builds and he can no longer bear it. But for the moment, right now, Eliott doesn’t seem to mind, so Lucas tries not to worry about it too much either.

“We’re here,” his something says, stopping in front of the building. Eliott’s eyes are crinkled into little half-moons, grey and shining, and he’s smiling. It’s crooked, curling up more on one side, but still endlessly endearing. He looks weird without his jacket, now left only in a thick jumper and black skinny jeans. Like a tree without leaves, or a wolf without its fur. There’s nothing to protect him from the cold—if the world decided to suddenly blast them with snow, Lucas fears Eliott might shrivel up and disappear.

“Yeah.” His reply is weak, and suddenly he’s breathless. His eyes trace along Eliott’s face, his cheekbones and the line of his nose, the paleness of his skin, searching for _something._

Eliott doesn’t seem to notice his staring, and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, his smile widens—if that’s even possible—and Lucas’ heart, the traitorous thing, does a little flip in his chest.

He worries Eliott might hear its loud thumping, the slamming against his ribcage.

“You should have this back,” he says as he toys with the end of the jacket.

Lucas begins to take it off, even if everything within him is yelling _stop_ , because it’s warm and smells like Eliott—cigarette ash and something calming. Pine, maybe. He doesn’t want to give it up. But the guy walked him home on the basis of _“being a gentleman”_ and he looks like he might freeze to death, so off it goes.

Eliott just waves a hand and blows out some air. It comes out in a hazy cloud, swirling into Lucas’ face. The damp warmth of it shocks him. “No, keep it,” he says blithely. “You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

“You might die from hypothermia, you know.”

Despite his calm, even serene, appearance, his eyes are piercing in the orange light of the street. “If I get to see you wearing my jacket tomorrow, it’ll be worth it.”

Lucas doesn’t have a retort. That little flip in his chest becomes a somersault, then a crash, a bang, and suddenly he doesn’t know how to speak anymore. His mouth feels dry and he’s inexplicably warm, like he isn’t standing outside in the cold in November with Eliott’s ridiculously cozy brown jacket that he never takes off—not until he did tonight for Lucas, both insistent and giving him the option to say no, pulling it over his shoulders, bundling him up, saying “you wear it better than I do” as if that isn’t a total lie, the guy’s a greek god and Lucas just might—

Lucas rolls his eyes. “You’re such a sap. It’s disgusting.”

Eliott takes it in stride, however, completely oblivious to the internal war Lucas is waging against himself. “Only for you, baby.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like he’s said it one thousand times, his lips curling around the syllables like a caress. 

“How unfortunate for me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and they fall into a short silence. They look at one another. Lucas tries to avert his eyes to the pavement, but there’s something in Eliott’s gaze that won’t let him go. It’s not forceful, or unyielding, but gentle. It will let him slip away if he wants to. Normally, Lucas would. He would huddle into a ball and ignore everything that Eliott makes him feel—that warmth. He would give it up in a heartbeat.

Nothing about this is normal, however, and so Lucas does not huddle or slip away. Instead, he settles into Eliott’s gaze like a long forgotten home and he burns.

“Ugh, it’s so cold,” Eliott says finally, and Lucas shudders. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you must be freezing in that jumper.”

Then, _then,_ like the smoothest motherfucker out there, like he believes he has the _right,_ Eliott comments: “Why don’t you warm me up?” And Lucas’ brain shuts down.

He splutters. It’s embarrassing, and all that comes out of his mouth are gasps and a cough or two. He can feel the blush spreading across his face like fire, crawling under his skin, a blazing pool of pink they both know isn’t from the cold.

“Was that too much?” Eliott asks like he’s the one at fault. And while he kind of is, with his smooth one-liners and half-lidded looks and perfect lips, _Lucas_ is the one who can’t be a normal guy on a normal date.

“No, no. You’re fine! I’m just—“

“It’s no pressure,” he says. Lucas, in his minor panic, feels like he means it. “Seriously. There’s always time for _that_ later.” He’s grinning, cheeky as all hell, and Lucas wants to kiss him terribly. 

He can imagine pressing his lips to Eliott’s. They’d be chapped, but soft, and would slot perfectly against his. A slight exhale. His something is surprised Lucas had the courage, but not unwelcoming.

Lucas, himself, won’t feel a rush, or a jolt, or hear fireworks go off behind them. No, he’ll feel calm, as if finally finding a place he can exist peacefully. He’d wrap his arms around Eliott’s slim neck and hold onto it like a lifeline, and Eliott would place his arms gently around his waist so as not to hurt him. 

An embrace to reduce the flame in his chest to an ember.

It would be so easy, to lean forward and kiss Eliott. Easy as breathing. Easier, even, because kissing Eliott would be as natural as needing air. 

But then Lucas sees those unsaid words, sentences and phrases he would not dare utter because if he did, he would collapse. A doll without strings to support it. He is held by those unsaid words and phrases, those declarations he knows would make him fall. 

They stop him in his tracks, and once again, he quietens those dreams of kissing Eliott and feeling a hand to replace those strings.

“Thank you for tonight. I really liked it.” _I really like you._

“I liked it a lot too. I hope we can do this again?”

He nods his head a little too enthusiastically. But he’s tired, and it’s late, and his heart feels a little too full with emotions he doesn’t want to name. So he doesn’t. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Eliott practically sparkles when Lucas says that, and it helps soothe the panic in his chest. He isn’t acting like an idiot, this isn’t some one-sided thing, Eliott cares. Still, there’s always that _maybe_ that lingers on the edge of his elation, spoiling his mood with a simple reminder that maybe this is a pity date, maybe he won’t want to go on another, and he only said that to make Lucas feel better, maybe—

“I should go. It’s getting pretty late.”

“Yeah. Right.” 

Lucas jerkily nods his head, and spares a glance up and down the street to distract himself from the disappointment he feels. It’s deserted; the sepia glow of the street lamps is suspending. He doesn’t want to let Eliott leave, to wander off back into the darkness alone, but again, he can’t put words to the feeling. 

He doesn’t dare to. 

He can’t ask him to stay. 

“Night,” Lucas says.

“Night.”

Eliott leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. The imprint it leaves burns, the same as but so very different to that earlier warmth. Eliott starts to walk away, taking Lucas’ heart with him, when he stops. “Oh, I was serious, by the way.”

Lucas doesn’t reply straight away. He’s too busy trying to restart his brain. “About what?”

“The jacket. You can give it to me tomorrow.”

And then, with one last fleeting look, he’s gone.

Lucas doesn’t let himself look back as he steps inside the building.

~

He wakes up surrounded by warmth. His room is dark, the curtains drawn tight over his window, and his door is shut. He takes a moment to revel in the silence before Mika inevitably barges into his room, demanding details about last night.

He doesn’t want to mention it, even though he remembers everything. The little restaurant Eliott claimed had the best garlic bread ( it did ); the flowers Eliott plucked from a garden for him; the conversation; the pauses that didn’t feel awkward; the walk back to the apartment; the kiss; the _jacket._

He sits up, bleary, and looks around his room. His eyes land on a small brown pile sitting at the edge of his bed. It’s Eliott’s jacket, the one he insisted Lucas wear even though he was probably freezing his arse off.

Silently bemoaning the loss of heat, Lucas gets out from under his covers and sits cross-legged beside where he’d carelessly tossed the jacket. He picks it up, feeling the texture of the sleeves, the collar, the inside. It’s well-worn, as if Eliott wears it everywhere—which he does, to be fair. Not that Lucas blames him, he looks absurdly good in it. He looks absurdly good in everything.

Lucas is shaken from his reverie by Lisa—not Mika, surprisingly—knocking on his door.

“Are you getting dressed?” She asks. Lucas isn’t used to seeing her up so early, she’s usually asleep when he leaves for school.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes in that _‘I would rather be doing literally anything else’_ way she’d perfected before he even moved in. “Mika forced me to tell you he’s making breakfast and if you want any you need to be dressed.”

“Tell him I’ll pass,” he says and she shrugs, her head disappearing as she closes the door behind her. Mika’s cooking is barely tolerable on the best of days. He doesn’t want to risk getting food poisoning on the day he’s supposed to give Eliott his jacket back and end up vomiting all over the guy. He’d be forced to move to Antarctica to escape the embarrassment that would surely follow. Right after killing Mika, of course.

Getting ready takes a little longer than usual. He sorts through his wardrobe and picks out an outfit he doesn’t mind, all the while ignoring the reason why he’s trying so hard when he usually just throws on the first thing he sees. As he’s leaving his room, he remembers the jacket, still sitting on his unmade bed, and snatches it up. He contemplates just holding it, but it’s cold outside and the thing is kinda heavy, so he shrugs it on.

He steadfastly ignores the real reason.

Avoiding Mika on his way out the door is easy. He hears yelling, something about breakfast being the most important meal of the day, but he steadily ignores it, plugging in his earphones and walking down to the bus stop.

“Lucas!”

Yann’s voice is the first thing to greet him as he walks into school. He has his head down, but perks up at the sound of his friend’s voice. Yann bounds over to him and throws an arm over his shoulder. Arthur and Basile follow at the slower pace, bickering.

“How did last night go?” 

He tilts his head slightly, trying and failing to suppress a smirk. “What happened last night?”

Yann shoves a finger in his face, accusing. “Don’t play coy! Don’t think we’ve forgotten about your little _date”_ —he wiggles his fingers—“because you were panicking about it enough yesterday to engrain it _permanently_ into my brain.” There’s a groan in his voice, but Lucas would recognise that proud look in his eyes anywhere.

He had been nervous, at first, to come out to the three of them, Yann especially. They’ve been his friends for so long that facing the reality that they may never want to speak to him again was debilitating. He’d agonised over it for years, tossing and turning every night as he dreamt of their disapproving frowns and their hateful eyes. 

It wasn’t until he’d met Eliott all those months ago that he was able to shed that fear. To see him live his life on his own terms, no matter what anyone else thought about it, was freeing in a way he didn’t know it could be. To know he could live like that too changed something fundamentally within him.

And to maybe even share it with Eliott? 

That was just a bonus. A very, _very_ generous bonus he wasn’t sure he deserved sometimes. Thinking back on last night, he isn’t one handed percent sure it happened. 

Lucas shrugs off Yann’s arm. The urge to roll his eyes is too much to ignore. “It was not panicking! I was simply expressing the correct amount of concern over a date that anyone else would.”

“Sure,” Yann says, and this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes. 

Arthur and Basile choose that moment to stop bickering and turn to him, their expressions equally curious. “So, Lucas, how’d your date go?” Arthur asks.

He doesn’t throw his arms up in the air in exasperation or exclaim for them to mind their own business like he might if he had gone on a date with a girl. As they look at him, eager to hear about how his night went, willing to hear him gush about a _boy,_ he can only feel grateful for having people who care about him enough to ignore it. “It was…fine, I guess. I don’t really have anything to compare it to.” He shrugs. “We went out to dinner and he was the perfect gentleman. Even pulled my chair out and everything.” 

He finds himself smiling by the end of it—just a small uplift of his lips, but its enough to reassure his friends that he’s not lying, he thinks. 

Of course, Basile ruins it. 

“Did you make out with him?” He says, and has the gall to not at least act _surprised_ by their disgust.

“Ugh, you’re so gross, Bas.”

“What!” He cries out to Lucas. “It’s a valid question. It’s an indicator of how well the date went.”

Lucas opens his mouth to respond, a deceptively nice comment that would follow Basile all day as he tries to figure out why it doesn’t sound as nice as he first thought on the tip of his tongue, but Arthur beats him to it. Albeit, in a more straightforward manner. “Your dates must have all ended horribly then,” he says astutely, adjusting his glasses. They laugh as Basile squawks in protest.

Yann is the first to recover. “Regardless of that,” he says, “Lucas is wearing Eliott’s jacket, so it must mean the date went well.”

“I—it’s not his jacket.” Even as he says it, he knows they don’t believe him. _He_ doesn’t believe him. Their disbelieving stares pierce through his tough exterior, and out from it flows a wave of pink, covering his face like a heated blanket.

“Then where did you get this from?” He picks on the shoulder of his— _Eliott’s_ jacket. “I’ve raided your wardrobe enough times to know it isn’t one of yours. Also, it’s way too big for you. You’re practically drowning in it, man.”

He buries his face in his hands. He can feel the heat from his face on his palms, and the thought of everyone seeing him like this sends it flaring. “Fine, maybe it is his,” he says, grudgingly, his voice muffled by his hands. “I got cold while we were out and he offered it to me. I was going to give it back to him today.”

“I always knew Eliott was a cool dude.”

Lucas peaks out from behind his fingers to set his confused stare on his friend. 

“Bas, you barely know him,” Arthur says.

“I—“

The bell rings, interrupting whatever he was going to reply with, and they say their goodbyes. 

As Lucas walks alone to his homeroom, he can’t help but tighten the jacket around himself, his fingers gripping the worn fabric with enough force to hurt. 

_If I get to see you wearing my jacket tomorrow, it’ll be worth it._

~

He’s aware of the jacket hanging off his frame the whole day. It’s big, brown and smells just like Eliott. He figures out what that calming scent is in his first lesson, and he was right last night. It’s pine. He doesn’t know what kind of aftershave Eliott must wear to make it smell like that, but he considers asking him briefly before tossing the idea. He can only imagine how weird it would look if he shows up on Monday wearing the exact same aftershave.

Eliott probably wouldn’t ever take him out on a date again—if he wasn’t lying in the first place to make Lucas feel better about himself.

Despite how aware he is of the jacket—how could he not?—no one comments on it. No one even plays him much attention except Imane—and she just aims a narrow-eyed glance at him over their assigned work. He ignores it, obviously, and hopes it has nothing to do with his new article of clothing.

Just to be safe though, he makes sure he’s the first person to leave his science class, and is out of his chair before Imane has even begun to pack away her things.

Since today is apparently the day to avoid people , he doesn’t meet Eliott up for coffee at the café near school like they usually do on Fridays. It’s cowardly, and rude, and he’s probably made Eliott hate him—but he doesn’t want to face him just yet.

So he shoots his something a text and hangs out with the guys.

**To Eli <<<3 ( 12:17 )**  
_sorry, can’t come today. i have to stay back so imane can help me with some work for our next class_

The words glare at him through the screen. The guilt bubbles up within him, enough to make him choke. First he let Eliott be caught up in his fucked up feelings, and now Imane? Who is he?

Feeling like an arse, he types out another text.

**To Eli <<<3 ( 12:19 )**  
_i promise i’ll make it up to you_

He tucks his phone away before he can see if Eliott responds and tries to focus on whatever Basile is talking about.

~

It’s the end of the day and he _still_ hasn’t found the courage to give the jacket back to Eliott. He’s had every opportunity to do so—find him before school, go the café, text him to meet up after school—and yet, he hasn’t done any of that. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid. It’s just a jacket, and Eliott basically forced him to wear it last night. He _wanted_ Lucas to wear it.

So why couldn’t he bring himself to give it back?

It’s a question he labours over as he makes the journey to the bus stop, wrapped up in the physical reminder of his date.

To distract himself, he pulls out his phone and opens it. On the screen are three texts. All from Eliott. His thumb hesitates over them for a second, before he taps on them and they open to his messages.

**From Eli <<<3 ( 12:23 )**  
_it’s fine. don’t worry abt it. we always have next friday :DD_

**From Eli <<<3 ( 12:24 )**  
_could u wait for me after school so i can get my jacket?? i have to talk to mme allier first_

**From Eli <<<3 ( 1: 17 )**  
_im gonna assume u haven’t seen these. and not just bc it says ‘not seen’. just give me my jacket on monday im not gonna need it over the weekend. see u_

After quickly typing out _sure_ , he forces his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, and hangs his head between his spread thighs. Eliott _definitely_ hates him now. 

How can he not? Lucas’s blown him off all day, making up excuses and going out of his way to ignore him. He even stood him up on their lunch at the café! Eliott’s only missed them when he’s sick and isn’t at school. Lucas doesn’t have that reason, because he’s clearly in good health—would being an insecure arsehole be a good enough reason?

Blowing out air, he leans back against the bus stop. Probably not.

Too caught up in his own misgivings, he only notices another person at the sound of a familiar voice swearing. 

“Shit!” It says, and he recognises _it_ immediately. Eliott is standing on the edge of the bus stop, looking to where the bus had just taken off. He’s wearing a black denim jacket today, with dark jeans and combat boots. He looks good, even though all Lucas can see is his back. It’s a very nice back. 

Suddenly, he’s not staring at a back but the face of his…something. “Lucas? What are you doing here?” Eliott asks, his voice torn between accusing and surprised.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Uh…catching the bus. Like you.”

“Right. That makes sense.” His eyebrows furrow and a little dent appears between them. Lucas has the urge to smooth it out with his thumb, or a kiss, but he’s too far away and it’d be ridiculously awkward if he tried. So he keeps his hands—and lips—to himself. 

Eliott, oblivious to all of this, comes to sit down next to him, leaving one spot between them. He’s facing forward when he says: “Have I done something wrong?”

“What?” is all Lucas can say.

“It’s just—you’ve been avoiding me all day.” His voice is quiet, measured, yet loud enough to be heard over the noise of the street. A car beeps from the other side of the road and Eliott turns to look at him. “You even cancelled our hangout at the café. I was just wondering if I did anything to hurt you last night. And if I did, I want you to know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He’s sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grins apologetically, authentic in a way that hurts Lucas to see.

He’s quick to reassure him. “No, you…you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did everything right. You were the perfect gentleman last night, Eliott, and there isn’t anyone I would have rather been on a date with.”

“Oh,” he says. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

A sigh. Loud and tortured enough that his something looks at him weirdly. “Because I’m stupid.”

Eliott is just as quick. “No, you’re not.”

“ _Yes,_ I am. And I’m a coward.” He picks at the skin of his thumb. “I’ve been avoiding you all day because…because I was afraid you would regret last night. You’re perfect, Eliott. You’re kind and considerate and a gentleman and more attractive than a person has any right to be. And I’m…me. The guy who stupidly hopes some things can be enough, only to be devastated when they _aren’t_.”

His chest aches as he utters the next two words. “I’m broken.”

“No, you aren’t,” Eliott says. Lucas has trouble believing him. “You might not believe it, but I’m not as perfect as you think I am. Everyone has issues and the best we can all do is try to smile through it. You’re not broken because you can’t smile all the time.”

He scoots over to take the seat between them, settling next to Lucas, their thighs touching. A hand reaches across to take his, stopping him from picking anymore at his thumb.

“I like you, Lucas. And I would never regret going on a date with you.”

He can see it coming. It’s written all over Eliott’s face in heart-achingly tender writing. His grey eyes glimmer in the light of the afternoon sunlight, little half-moons that shine out of his face. He moves his face close to Lucas’, holding his gaze. Another hand comes up slowly to press cup his jaw.

It cradles him.

“I was right, you know.” His voice is a mere whisper now.

“What?”

It’s hard to get the word out.

“It was totally worth the hypothermia to see you in my jacket.”

And they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> tw: swearing, self-esteem issues, underage kissing (in some parts of the world), slight internalised homophobia
> 
> babeys, the both of them
> 
> did u know élu means 'dearest' in french ? BABEEEEYS
> 
> if u wanna see some shitposts my [tumblr](https://epanouiii.tumblr.com) is the place for u (ﾉ∀`♥)


End file.
